


Be There

by wrathwritesthings (leviathan_wrath)



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Multi, One Shot, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Reader with Rheumatoid Arthritis, Reader-Insert, caring gladio, mildly nsfw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-12-23 04:14:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11981910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leviathan_wrath/pseuds/wrathwritesthings
Summary: Gladiolus takes care of you when your RA flares up.





	Be There

**Author's Note:**

> This was requested on tumblr. The request reads: _Dahlin'. Can I request a thing? I'm in a mood because of my RA. Any chance you can string together some love between a reader with an invisible illness and Gladdy? <3_
> 
>  **Warnings:** Minor Angst, Fluff for Days, OOC Galore, AU, Intense Tense Flippage, Vague Refs to Sex, Otherwise SFW, Gladio is a Dork, Short  & Sweet

**Be There**

You hadn’t really planned on telling him about it. It seemed a trivial thing to you, since you’d lived with it for so long. But the pain is never really something you can get used to, no matter the passage of time. So when Gladiolus finds out about your RA, it’s purely by accident.

The two of you had a date planned, which was rare since dates with Gladio are usually spontaneous or he doesn’t give you much information other than, “Don’t wear anything fancy” or the one time he asked, “Hypothetically, would you consider sparring a date? Again, _hypothetically_. Why’re you laughing?”

But you had a flare up. And it was _bad_. You’d barely been able to muster up the strength to answer the phone and keep your voice level enough to apologize, “Sorry, Gladdy, but I have to cancel today.”

“Why? What’s up?” The disappointment in his voice was evident even though you could tell he was trying his best to snuff it out. “You okay, babe? You sound a little off.”

“I’m fine,” you’d lied.

“ _(y/n)_.” That thing he did with his voice, half-scold and half-growl, always indicated to you that he wasn’t up for playing games. Well, neither were you, to be perfectly honest. Pain, especially _this_ pain, always has a way of robbing you of your good humor and patience.

“Listen, I’m hurting and I’m _not_ in the mood,” you snapped. “I already said I’m sorry. Bye.”

After about ten minutes of agonizing silence, with you staring up at your ceiling and cursing yourself, your phone buzzed. Like lightning you grabbed your phone and opened the text to find a picture of a kitten grabbing on a clothesline with its little paws and the caption: “Hang in there, baby!”

Despite the pain, you laughed aloud at your humongous dork of a boyfriend.

Once he was certain that you weren’t opposed to him coming to your place (he was very considerate about your space and didn’t want to cross any lines) he came over with his version of comfort food ( _cup noodles_ ) and your favorite snacks. And you two talked.

He’s done a lot of research since you told him about it. Perhaps _too_ much. Sometimes he’ll slip in one of those ten-dollar words when it’s not necessary and you can’t help but laugh. Sometimes he’ll randomly hand you some ginger candy or hellacious smelling tea because, “It’s good for pain.”

And he always does it so covertly, so seriously, that you often wonder if some passersby think you two are doing a drug exchange. _Especially_ when he picks you up from work in the parking lot. The candy is carefully slid into your hand and then his hands are back in his pockets, leaning against the car, all casual.

“What the hell, Gladiolus?” You’d flushed the first time he did it, taken aback as a coworker walked by and eyed you two suspiciously. He’d stared your coworker down with those fiery amber eyes of his, sending them hurrying to their car, before turning them on to you.

“What?” He’d asked innocently. “It’s good candy. Usually helps me with muscle pain.”

You also get texted links to saunas in the area with a million question marks that are supposed to indicate that he’s wondering if you’d like to go. You get emailed yoga routines with step-by-step illustrations and with the email’s subject line reading: “Wanna try this with me? ;)”

After the first time you two did yoga together (“To relax your joints and muscles. Trust me, it helps.”) you quickly realized that it was a surefire way to end up getting laid. So, if you want to do yoga for your joints and _actually do yoga_ … you stick to practicing solo. Otherwise…?

And it’s not that he harps on about your RA. In fact, he goes to great lengths to _not_ seem overbearing concerning it. He even sat you down one day, dark eyebrows knitted together, amber eyes morose, and you feared the worst. He took your hands in his and asked, “I’m not annoying you, am I?”

After you smacked his arm, you griped, “No! But you did when you made me think you were breaking up with me just now!”

“Psh!” He’d scoffed, a wicked grin on his face at your lame attack. “Yeah, right. I’d never break up with you.” Gladio paused at your stunned expression. Pink blossomed on his cheeks and he murmured, “Yeah, I know that sounded weird, but you know what I mean.”

And that’s your dynamic ever since you told him.

The relationship is pretty much the same as before with the addition of random items being left at your home like heating pads (in addition to his usual habit of “accidentally” leaving his underwear behind so he has an excuse to come over again) along with yoga now being a form of foreplay for the fitness junkie.

Now, you’re at home, miserable with another flare up, when you get the text. It’s Gladiolus with another one of his spontaneous dates; usually a selfie outside your home or on the road stuck in traffic with the ominous caption: “Soon.” You text back that you aren’t up for it.

It takes a long time for him to text back, over an _hour_ , and the message is: “I’m at the door can you open up and get I’ve got bag arms.”

Eyes blink in bewilderment at that nonsensical text. What the _hell_ are “bag arms,” anyway?

You don’t have much time to ponder this, because then there’s a bang on the door that sounds a lot like a solid body falling against it. You open the door to find Gladio struggling to hold bags in his arms while simultaneously trying to put his phone back in his pocket.

He’s a bit flushed. Dammit, you aren’t supposed to see him _like this_! He’s the Cool Guy™ who takes you out on memorable dates and makes you laugh by wearing your pajamas (or attempting to, at least)! “Sorry. Speech to text isn’t all that great.”

“So I noticed,” you chuckle, helping the big guy out with the bags of takeaway.

He keeps two bags to himself. There’s a vibrant symbol on them, indicating that they’re from a drug store. At your raised eyebrows, Gladio explains, “Got some heating pads, ginger tea, and the new season of that show you like just got released on Netflix. So, I figured… How ‘bout a night in?”

A sigh escapes you at the sight of the disposable heating pads that he puts on your kitchen counter along with the tin of ginger tea. Last you checked, you have almost fifteen pads and you’re still trying to work through the last tin of tea he bought you. “Gladdy, I still have heating pads from last time.”

And from the time before that, and from the time before that, _and_ …

Broad shoulders come up in an indifferent shrug, but you can see that the tips of his ears are a bit pink. “Well, doesn’t hurt to have more.”

“I have enough to see me through the apocalypse.” You point out lightly, “You don’t need to do this, you know?”

“But I want to. I wanna be here for you.”

The sincerity in his eyes makes your heart skip a beat.

“O-Okay…”

After the food is eaten (you end up giving him some of yours because you catch him giving you puppy eyes when he finishes first) you two end up watching TV. You’re curled against his side, halfway on his lap. He has one arm wrapped around your waist. The steady beat of his heart lulls you to sleep.


End file.
